


It Sounds Like Drumming

by mrhd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhd/pseuds/mrhd
Summary: Dean pulls Cas out of the Empty.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 30
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I'm coming wait for me  
>  I hear the walls repeating  
> The falling of our feet and  
> It sounds like drumming  
> And we are not alone  
> I hear the rocks and stones  
> Echoing our song  
> I'm coming_

Dean stands in the library of the bunker, because he can’t bring himself to go back down to the basement. He can’t. So Sam and he had pushed a bunch of tables to the side to clear a space for Jack to open a portal.

“Opening it isn’t the same as _doing_ anything,” Jack had said. But going in would be, pulling Cas out would be, which is why it’s going to be Dean instead.

Heh. As if Dean would have let anyone else go. Cas had given himself willingly, happily to the Empty for Dean, and it has to be Dean who pulls him back.

“You probably will not have much time,” Jack says, looking at Dean, a bit worried, serious lines around his young face. “The Empty isn’t meant to hold humans.”

“What will it do to me?” Dean asks. Part of it is because he’s supposed to. It’s hard to care overmuch about what might happen to him. He doubts there’s any kind of eternal celestial torment that could be worse that the hole Cas ripped open in his chest.

“It can’t take you,” Jack says confidently. “It will probably just spit you back out.”

“So. We have an exit plan then,” Dean says, summoning a cocky grin.

“Dean-” Sam starts, probably to tell him how stupid that lack of a plan is, but Dean talks over him.

“How do I find Cas?” he asks.

“I’m…not sure,” Jack admits. “The Empty isn’t bound by physical laws. He could be anywhere.”

“Great,” Dean says with false cheer, clapping his hands together. “Let’s do this thing.”

Sam looks on worriedly as Jack opens a portal with a _whoosh_. Dean takes a deep breath and steps through.

The Empty is…well Empty. Dean had known it would be, had been prepared for it, or at least, he thought he had been. Instead the utter blankness, the suffocating lack of…anything, presses uncomfortably on him the moment he enters.

He shuts his eyes.

It doesn’t make a difference.

Dean swallows down his fear, his sense of wrongness. Cas. He’s doing this for Cas.

“Cas?” he calls out. He says it, thinks it, calls to Cas with his voice and his thoughts, a plea, a prayer.

There’s no response.

“Come on, Cas, I know you’re in here,” Dean says. “Don’t-don’t ignore me, okay, just ‘cause…just ‘cause I couldn’t…” His throat feels thick, closing on the emotions, on the regret, that Dean couldn’t say more in the moment, that what he did say had sealed Cas’ fate. “Cas, please.”

Fuck. It’s not working.

Dean grits his teeth and breathes in harshly, gripping tightly at the knife in his pocket. That, at least, is real. He’s real. It doesn’t feel like he’s taking in real air, but Dean can feel his lungs expand, can feel his chest rise and fall with the motions of breathing. He puts his left hand over his heart, curling it over the edge of his jacket. His heart beats beneath his palm.

“I’m gonna find ya, Cas,” he says. He lets go of his knife and instead reaches across himself, placing his hand over the blood Cas had left behind.

“Alright, Cas, I’m comin’,” Dean says, taking a step forward. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything beneath his feet, just like it doesn’t feel like he’s walking through anything. It’s just…cold, but not a chill, just the absence of any heat.

He thinks about Cas. Terrifying and imposing in a barn, taking fire and bullets and a knife like it didn’t even matter. He thinks about how Cas had understood him immediately. He thinks about Cas tilts his head when he’s thinking, the way he squints when Dean was particularly perplexing in his humanity or his pop culture references. Thinks about how Cas had always let Dean touch him, move him around, like he wasn’t a massive being of celestial power. Thinks about all the moments when they stood a little too close together, those little moments when Dean had thought _maybe_ , when he had pictured tilting his head, just a little, to be kissing Cas. Thinks about how Cas would have let him.

Cas will let him, Dean is sure. He just has to find him.

Dean had expected…something. Some kind of resistance. Nightmares, specters, the Empty itself manifesting to stop him. But it seems to be asleep, or resting, because nothing stops Dean from putting one foot in front of the other.

“Cas,” Dean says. “Can you hear prayers in here? C’mon, man, wake up.”

Cas was the first one Dean ever prayed to, the only being he’d ever had enough faith in. And Cas had believed in him in return. He’d believed that Dean deserved to be saved, always, from the first time they’d met, to his final sacrifice.

Dean doesn’t deserve it. He knows he doesn’t. He’s just…a human. A fuck up. Daddy’s blunt little instrument, and he hadn’t even been good at that. He’d fucked up so many times, at everything, at keeping Sammy safe, at keeping the world safe, at keeping Cas safe. He can hear the echo of his own voice, cruel and harsh, sending Cas away, snapping at him, yelling at him.

He stops walking and clenches his left hand around the edge of his jacket. He doesn’t deserve Cas’ love or his devotion. He knows that. Has known that.

 _I love you_.

But Cas had given it to him anyways. The least Dean can do is repay him for it.

He takes another step.

Gradually, things start to change. It’s as if the air, or lack of it, that Dean is moving through has started to thicken. Each step feels heavier, more difficult. Abruptly, Dean is exhausted. His very soul feels like it’s been drained. The urge to lie down is strong, too strong.

He stumbles.

 _Dean_.

Dean catches himself on his own knees, curling his hands into the worn denim. “Cas?” he calls back. It had sounded like Cas, _felt_ like Cas.

Dean takes several hurried steps forward, head turning, searching. “Cas!”

The feeling starts to disappear around the edges. “No, Cas, wait, I’m coming,” Dean says, hurrying forward.

His heart pounds, the falling of his feet matching the beat of his heart. _Cas, Cas, Cas_ , they’re saying.

 _I love you_.

“I love you,” Dean says, “I love you, Cas, I love you.”

There’s a rushing filling his senses, not unlike the rushing that he used to associate with Cas’ sudden appearances. It blows past Dean, and he can feel it ruffle his hair, the ends of his jacket.

Dean spins around, stumbling again.

“Cas,” he says, because there Cas stands.

He’s in the middle of the emptiness, staring into it, head tilted.

“Cas,” Dean calls.

Cas frowns a little, but doesn’t react more. Doesn’t even turn around.

“C’mon, Cas, this isn’t funny.”

Still nothing.

“Cas!” Dean repeats louder. He steps closer to him, reaching his hand out. His heart pounds wildly. “Castiel! You turn around, and you fucking look at me!”

Cas flinches. “Dean,” he says quietly.

“Come on, Cas, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I don’t like it,” Dean snaps, striding towards him. He stops just short of coming into contact with Cas, afraid, so afraid, that he’ll disappear when he does.

“No, this isn’t…” Cas says vaguely, sounding upset. He puts his hands on his temples and shakes his head. It’s a very human gesture.

“It’s me, Cas,” Dean says. His fingertips brush Cas’ coat, and it feels _real_. “I came for you.”

Cas presses back into the fingertips, gasping quietly. “Dean,” he says.

“Cas,” Dean says.

Cas turns around. His eyes are huge and wet, and he looks at Dean like Dean is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It makes Dean’s heart clench painfully. “Hey, Cas,” he says, cupping Cas’ cheek with his other hand, the other gripping his shoulder tightly.

Cas tilts his head into the touch. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

“What, you disappointed to see me?” Dean asks. His voice is gruff, as he tries very hard not to cry all of a sudden.

“Never,” Cas says, always so honest. “But I do not want you to be…stuck here.”

“I won’t be,” Dean says. “The empty doesn’t keep humans. Jack said.”

“You…you should go,” Cas says, his voice sounding watery, full, like it had before he’d disappeared.

“I’m came to get you,” Dean says. “So let’s go.”

Cas shakes his head. “I made a deal.”

“Fuck your deal!” Dean says. “Come on, Cas, what’s wrong? Do you not…you don’t want to come with me?”

“I do,” Cas says. “But the Empty…it does not have to let me go. I do not want it to take you to get to me.”

“Well let’s try,” Dean says. “Come on, Cas, let’s try.” Then, taking his own advice, he leans forward and kisses Cas.

It’s a shock. It takes Dean’s breath away. Cas’ lips feel like they’re made of static, tingling and untouchable and powerful.

Cas gasps.

Dean pulls back.

Cas pushes forward kissing him again, and this time, it’s wet and real.

“I love you,” Dean says. “You gotta let us try.”

“Okay,” Cas says. “Where do we go?”

“I came from this way,” Dean says, pointing.

Cas squints a little. “I do not think direction matters,” he says. Then, “Dean. Did you come here without a plan?”

“I had a plan,” Dean protests. “Come get you.”

Cas smiles. “And the rest of the plan?”

“Hey, it’s worked so far,” Dean points out.

Cas smiles at him, indulgent and fond. “It has,” he says. “Come on,” he says, taking Dean’s hand and starting to walk.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Dean asks.

“It’s not direction that matters,” Cas says again. “It is intent.”

“Intent?”

Cas smiles again. “How did you find me, Dean?”

Dean shrugs, unaccountably embarrassed. “I was thinking about you,” he says, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck on instinct.

“You intended to find me,” Cas says, nodding. “And now, we intend to leave.”

It should feel silly, walking in nothing, holding Cas’ hand like their children. But Dean’s heart pounds with how much he likes it.

Then, from the nothing, comes a ripple, a shift in the not-air, something physical despite nothing changing.

“Shit,” Cas says. “The empty is awake.”

“Should we run?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Cas says.

“Hey,” Dean says, squeezing Cas’ hand as they speed up, “don’t let go, okay? No more sacrificing yourself. You follow me out this time.”

Cas squeezes back as they take off.

The black nothingness that makes up the surface of the Empty is bubbling shifting, quite literally nipping at their heels. Cas ignores it so Dean does too, as long as he can. Eventually the bubbles grow, more like waves, undulating, large enough that Dean has to leap over them.

They’re stumbling now, slowing, and still, there’s only the surging emptiness around them. No way out.

It’s a good thing Dean brought his back up plan. And it’s a good thing Cas is holding his left hand, because it means Dean can grab his knife in his right.

“Cas,” he says, tugging, pulling them to a stop.

Cas’ eyes are wide. “Dean,” he says, but Dean just pulls him close.

“Hold onto me, alright?” Dean says. He takes the knife and presses it to his other arm.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

“It’s human blood. The Empty can’t hold humans; it should reject us if we’re saturated with too much human.”

“Dean, this is stupid,” Cas says, voice low and mean. Which is why Dean hadn’t told Sam or Jack about it. Coming from Cas though, Dean knows now that it means he’s worried, and it makes him smile a bit. “You told _me_ not to be self-sacrificial.”

“It’s just a little blood,” Dean says. “I’ll be fine.” And then he cuts. He cuts deep enough, precise enough that the blood starts pouring from the veins in his arm, thick and red, iron and earth and human. He steps closer to Cas and smears his arm across Cas’, making sure to get it on the bared skin of Cas’ hand. He wraps his bleeding arm around Cas’ neck and doesn’t let go.

“Dean,” Cas says, bloodied arm wrapping around Dean’s waist.

The Empty bubbles around them. It’s angry, hissing almost. Dean is sure it’s taken the form of one of his many ghosts, but he keeps his eyes shut. “Fuck off, he’s mine,” he says.

“We had a deal,” the Empty says, voice everyone’s, and no one’s, at once.

“I didn’t,” Dean says. “I claim him. Castiel is mine now. He belongs to me. To Earth.” He has no idea where the words are coming from, or if there’s anything to them, but they feel right.

Cas pushes on his hip and Dean obeys, stumbling backwards.

There’s a fraction of a second where he feels nothing at all.

Then his stomach is swooping and he’s falling backwards.

Dean hits something solid and gasps, wind knocked out of him by the fall and Cas’ weight on top of him.

There’s proper sound now, voices. Sam, and Jack, shouting, saying something.

Dean tries to speak but ends up just gasping.

“Oh my god, his _arm_ -”

“Why is he _bleeding_?”

“Dean, what did you do?”

The voices swim around him, Dean too disoriented to make much sense of them.

“Dean.”

It’s Cas this time, right in Dean’s ear.

“Cas,” Dean gasps.

He hisses in pain when Cas grasps his arm, fingers slipping through the blood coating it. But the next second a wave of warmth washes over him, and the sting in his arm disappears, along with the ache in his back and the pounding in his head.

Then there are gentle hands on him, helping him sit, and the library of the bunker swims into view around him. “Oh, thank fuck, it worked,” he says.

Cas and Sam are propping him up, one on either side, Jack kneeling between them.

Dean grins at him, and Jack grins back.

“Got ‘im,” Dean says.

Cas lets out a little sigh and rests his forehead against Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Sam says, to Dean’s right, giving him a little shake, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

Sam exhales. “That…that was just a lot of blood when you came back through,” he says.

“Dumbass,” Cas growls.

Dean laughs. “It worked, didn’t it? Got us back?”

“I’m glad you’re okay, man,” Sam says, clapping Dean’s shoulder. “You too, Cas.”

“Thank you,” Cas says.

They should all get up, probably, the four of them kneeling in a mess of papers scattered from the rush of the portal, spattered with Dean’s blood, but before anyone can move Jack is pressing against Dean’s chest, arms spread in an awkward kind of four way hug, and Dean finally, finally, exhales.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean come together. Finally.

When Dean lifts his head, the room is clean again, papers back in place, blood gone. Cas is still resting with his head on Dean’s collarbone, breaths even. Sam pulls back a little, smiling at Dean, giving his shoulder a little shake.

Dean grins at him. “Told ya, Sammy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says. He stands up, Jack going with him. “We’ll give you two some time, yeah?” he says.

Jack nods. “There are things I have to take care of,” he says. “But I’ll be back. I have to ask you something, Castiel.”

“What is it?” Cas asks, not picking his head up from where it’s resting on Dean’s shoulder, face turned towards Dean’s neck.

Dean tries very hard not to shiver or, worse, groan, at the warm puff of his breath.

“Later,” Jack says, with a smile. The he’s gone, just like that.

Sam laughs a little. He, of course, has to walk out of the library like a lowly human, steps and time required.

Dean and Cas are still on the floor, Cas practically in Dean’s lap. Dean wants desperately to hold him close like this forever, still not quite believing that it worked, that Cas is back here, with him.

“Dean,” Cas says.

“Yeah?” Dean says. There’s a serious note in Cas’ voice that makes him feel anxious.

“I love you,” Cas says.

Dean’s heart leaps in his chest.

“I did not say it back to you, in the Empty,” Cas says. “I wanted to.”

Dean exhales to calm his racing heart and presses his lips to Cas’ hair. “I’m the one who didn’t say it back,” he points out. “The first time. I’m sorry, Cas, I should have.”

Cas shakes his head, his hair tickling Dean’s chin. “I didn’t need you to,” he says.

“But I should have,” Dean says. “Because…it’s true.”

Cas picks his head up and smiles at Dean, slow and sweet.

Dean kisses him. He can’t not. He wants to taste Cas’ smile, he wants to know everything about how Cas tastes, not just his mouth, but his skin, his sweat, if Cas does something so human, and god, his come. Jus the thought of it makes Dean dizzy.

Cas tastes hot and dark, yet bright at the same time, something like pop rocks. Dean doesn’t know if it’s Cas’ innate grace, or if it’s a consequence of Cas, or if it’s because Dean is so stupidly in love with him. Cas’ stubble scrapes across Dean’s, a rasp that’s exciting, less familiar than the rest of the kiss. It’s good, Dean’s always liked it, even when he tried to pretend like he didn’t.

He gasps into Cas’ mouth, opening his mouth to Cas’ tongue, which sweeps in, flicking against Dean’s, running across Dean’s teeth, the roof of his mouth, everywhere, like Cas can’t get enough of Dean’s mouth.

Dean clutches at Cas’ shoulders and hangs on.

Cas is the one to break the kiss, and when he does Dean finds himself sucking in air. Fuck. Had he forgotten to breathe?

Cas traces Dean’s face gently with one finger, his cheekbone, down into the lines of his stubble. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Dean blushes, and is immediately embarrassed by the blush. His hands twitch on Cas’ shoulders, fighting the urge to cover his face.

“Dean,” Cas says, and just Dean’s name in his voice sounds wondering, rapturous. It just makes Dean’s heart pound harder, _thump thump thump_ , like it’s going to beat right out of his chest.

“Cas,” Dean says back, and his own voice is lackluster in comparison, nothing beautiful or breathtaking, but Cas still smiles at him.

Cas leans in this time, mouth soft and sweet on Dean’s lips before his tongue sweeps out, hot and wet.

Dean opens his mouth for Cas, easily. Cas keeps it slow, languid, and Dean feels it in his head, in his heart, his blood rushing, pounding, unable to handle it.

Cas is the one who breaks away again, still smiling. “Dean,” he says, “you need to breathe.”

“Wha’?” Dean asks, distracted, because Cas’ soft pink lips are turning redder, shiny with spit, _Dean_ ’s spit.

“When we kiss,” Cas says, still looking stupidly fond. “You have to breathe while we kiss.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Well, you make me forget,” he accuses, leaning in to kiss Cas again.

Before he can lose himself in it again, Cas pulls back. “Dean,” he says, as if he can’t get enough of saying Dean’s name.

“Yeah?” Dean asks. He’s looking at Cas’ cheeks, which are red now with arousal. He wants to see if Cas’ skin is hot under his flush.

“I want to have sex with you,” Cas says.

Dean’s heart leaps, and so does his dick. “Okay,” he agrees, because of course. Dean wants Cas as close as possible, wants to give him everything he is. Of course he’s going to have sex with Cas. He leans back in for another kiss, but Cas’ hand stops him.

“I do not think we should have sex on the library floor,” Cas says.

“Why not?” Dean says, but he’s smiling. Cas is right. He deserves a bed, and Dean’s slow attention. He deserves to feel _good_. Dean clambers to his feet, reaching a hand out for Cas.

Cas takes it and doesn’t let go even when they’re standing.

Dean heart does a bunch of stupid flips, like he’s a teenage girl holding his crush’s hand for the first time. Cas’ hand is big and warm and it feels _good_ wrapped around Dean’s. They stumble together down the hallway, both trying to lead and follow, bumping into each other. Each time their hips bump Cas looks over at Dean and smiles and Dean is helpless to smile back.

He’s helpless to not reach out, to not reach his hand and grip the edge of Cas’ coat in his spare hand. It tangles them together more but Dean doesn’t care enough to let go, even it means it takes them longer to get to his room, even if they look ridiculous. With his door in sight he stops fighting the urge to kiss Cas, smiling into it, something strange and joyous bubbling up in his chest. He can’t remember the last time he was excited to have sex like this, happy about it.

But Cas is pecking at his lips, ridiculous just a little bit, short sweet presses and Dean doesn’t want to remember anyone else, only wants to think about Cas’ stubble, only wants to think about the way Cas tastes, deep and bright all at the same time. Like liquor with lemon in it, or…something. Dean’s never been so poetic, even in his head with anyone else, but Cas is making his mind buzz, his blood thrum and sing.

Cas nuzzles against Dean’s jaw, scraping Dean’s stubble against his nose.

Dean can’t wait to see if it’s turned his nose pink.

Cas reaches behind them with his spare hand, opening Dean’s door. They stumble in together, Cas pushing the door closed behind him with his foot as Dean pushes Cas’ coat down off his arms.

Cas takes it off and throws it to the side, yanking his tie off while he’s at it.

He looks ridiculously sexy in his rumpled shirt and Dean has to kiss him again, pressing back into Cas’ space, their hands still entwined.

Cas lets Dean lead this time, lets Dean stick his tongue in his mouth, tasting more of him, glorying in the fact that he gets to kiss Cas now, that he hadn’t lost the change. That all those could-have-beens, those maybes, are in the past.

He must forget to breathe again, because when they break apart he finds himself gasping and Cas chuckling against his cheek.

“Shut,” Dean grumbles, no heat in it, as Cas kisses his jaw.

Cas kisses back to Dean’s mouth and Dean murmurs happily into it. He never wants to stop kissing Cas. Every time he pulls away he sees Cas’ face, tearstained, feels him pushing Dean away, remembers the feeling, the words, crawling up his throat choking him, rendering him helpless as Cas disappeared in front of him. Dean had thought it was too late. That he wasn’t going to get the chance to ever kiss Cas at all. So he fits his lips to Cas’ again, quickly becoming familiar, but not boring, no, Cas is a good kisser, enthusiastic and sweet, mouth open for Dean, letting Dean sweep his tongue in and taste the happy noises that Cas is making too.

“Dean,” Cas says, pulling away, their lips brushing against each other. “Dean, you have to breathe,” he says yet again.

“Don’t wanna,” Dean grumbles nonsensically, dipping his head to bury his face in Cas’ neck, mark his skin up with his stubble. He gets his mouth around the hinge of Cas’ jaw and sucks on it.

“Oh,” Cas says, breathy and revelatory, tightening the hand he has in Dean’s hair. “Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean says, taking Cas’ face in his hands, again, kissing him, again. He couldn’t care less about his stupid human need to breathe, but apparently Cas does, because he pulls his lips off of Dean’s again, as though he could hear Dean’s lungs protesting.

“Cas,” Dean repeats, not ashamed enough of how needy it sounds.

“You can slow down,” Cas assures him. “I am not going anywhere.”

Dean mouths at Cas’ neck again so he can hide his face there. Cas has said that before. Has promised Dean not to die, not to sacrifice himself. It’s always been a lie.

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean can feel the vibrations of his name against his lips, his tongue. It’s glorious.

“Wha’?” Dean asks, more interested in sucking on Cas’ pulse point than talking.

“I-oh!” The press of Dean’s teeth makes Cas shiver. “You are very good at this,” he pants.

There’s a million things Dean could say in response, swagger, and pride, but what comes out is an earnest, “Thanks.” He would be embarrassed, but he’s too turned on, overwhelmed, by the scent of Cas, by the taste of him, by how Cas’s hips feel cupped in Dean’s palms, by the tug of Cas’ fingers in Dean’s hair, by the breathy, pleased noises Cas keeps making.

“You are _distracting_ ,” Cas says.

“Good,” Dean says, biting him again.

Cas gasps and tips his head back for it.

Dean growls a little and drags his teeth up the column of Cas’ throat. Still, the only thing they’ve gotten off is Cas’ coat and his tie and this is already likely the hottest experience of Dean’s life.

“Mmm,” Cas says. Then, “I was going to say something.”

“What?” Dean murmurs against the thin skin under Cas’ jaw.

“I…I do not _remember_ ,” Cas says, a little bit of a whine, a pout in it.

“Not important then,” Dean says, tipping his head up and then he’s back at Cas’ mouth, kissing him again, and yes, this is what is important, only this.

Cas’ hands are everywhere, clutching at Dean, pulling him closer, even though they’re already pressed together from chest to foot. Cas grabs a fistful of Dean’s flannel at his waist and tugs on it.

“Yeah, yes,” Dean says into Cas’ mouth, and it’s torture to let go of him for long enough to get his arms out of the sleeves. Then Dean’s flannel is on the floor and his hands are back at Cas’ hips, dipping into his waistband, pulling out his shirttails and running his hands up under Cas’ shirt, fingers grasping at warm skin.

Cas makes another breathy sound and kisses Dean again, mimicking him, sliding his hands under Dean’s t-shirt and dragging them up his spine.

Dean groans into Cas’ mouth and shivers.

“You are sensitive here,” Cas notes, dragging his fingertips down either side of Dean’s spine.

“Cas-”

“I want to know,” Cas says. “I want to know where you like to be touched. I want to know how to make you feel good, Dean.”

“Fuck,” Dean says, because that’s nearly as overwhelming as hearing “I love you”. “You do, Cas, you do.” He kisses Cas again, before he can say anything else that his stupid little hindbrain screams is embarrassing, is weak and vulnerable.

Cas makes another sound into Dean’s mouth and drags his fingertips up again, this time digging in with his nails.

Dean groans and arches his back into the touch, and so Cas keeps doing it. Fuck, Dean is going to have scratches up and down his back. It’s thrilling. He’d had Cas’ mark once before, he wants more of them, all of them, he wants to belong to Cas in every way possible, human or angel.

His own hands have stayed at Cas’ hips, grasping almost desperately, finally, finally touching Cas. Dean moves them a little, so he can dip his thumbs under the waistband of Cas’ pants, rubbing along his hipbones.

Cas makes yet another breathy noise into their kiss and Dean feels drunk off of it. Cas is _noisy_ during sex, and that’s something that Dean _knows_ now. His own hands are making Cas, stupidly powerful, ethereal, otherworldly, angel Cas happy, and Cas wants him to know it. Dean swallows all of his little noises, greedy, hungry. They’re for him, all for him, and only him now.

Cas, seemingly determined not to be outdone, scratches his way down Dean’s back again, until he hits the waistband of his jeans, where he just goes for it, shoving both his hands down Dean’s pants to grab at his ass.

Dean shouts in surprise, muffled by Cas’ mouth. Dean doesn’t wear especially tight jeans, but between Cas’s hands and his own erection they’re definitely straining. He reaches between them for Cas’ belt, undoing it quickly, hoping Cas gets the hint. He doesn’t bother unthreading it, going straight for the button and the zipper, until he can cup his hand around Cas’ cock, bulging in the front of his underwear.

“Oh!” Cas says, and static trembles in the air around them.

It takes Dean’s breath away.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says. He lets go of Dean’s ass and grips tight at his shoulders, rocking his hips as Dean gropes him. “This feels…this is very nice.”

Dean wants to smirk, wants to be smug, but he’s pretty sure the smile he hides against Cas’ neck is fond and pleased. “Yeah?” he says. “I can make it feel even better.”

“By taking my pants off,” Cas says.

Dean snorts, definitely fond now, the feeling beating in his chest. “Yeah,” he says. “And mine.”

“Okay,” Cas says agreeably, and then his hands are between them too, tangling with Dean’s as he opens Dean’s jeans. Cas shoves Dean’s pants and underwear to his ankles with one firm push, and then he’s grabbing handfuls of Dean’s bare ass again.

“Holy fuck, Cas,” Dean says, trying not to laugh. It’s not funny, it’s not, it’s just…Cas, and the way he makes Dean feel, all bubbly and excited inside, even as his aggressiveness is brain-searingly hot.

“That’s the idea,” Cas says, his voice growly.

Dean does laugh then.

Cas pulls back a bit to frown at him.

Dean doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest, in his throat, in his lungs, so he kisses Cas instead, as if he’s trying to push the feeling through their mouths. With his pants around his ankles and his boots still on, there’s no escaping the awkward shuffle as he pushes Cas back by the hips towards the bed.

Cas goes easily, apparently content to be led as he sucks Dean’s tongue into his mouth. It’s overwhelming again, the idea that Cas, who could kill him with a pinky, who can change and make and end worlds, is letting Dean walk him awkwardly across his bedroom. Cas is an angel, and he’s going to let Dean defile him.

Dean shivers a little and just keeps kissing Cas, focusing on him, on his hot mouth, the warm skin of his waist under Dean’s hands.

“Dean,” Cas says, breaking away.

Dean gasps in air he’d forgotten he’d needed again.

Cas puts his fingers gently on the arch of Dean’s cheekbone.

“W-what?” Dean asks shakily. They’re at the edge of the bed now.

Cas looks at him, all piercing intensity. “You are a very good kisser,” he says. Then he moves, fast, so fast, grabbing Dean’s bare hips and spinning them, so it’s Dean who gets shoved down onto the mattress.

Dean blinks up at Cas, who is currently yanking his shirt off, and throwing it aside. “I want you naked,” he says, shoving his own pants and underwear down.

“Uh, right, okay,” Dean says stupidly, because now Cas’ cock is there, long and red, standing up against his stomach, leaking already. He’s tried so hard, so fucking hard not to imagine Cas’ cock before, has failed as often as he’d succeeded. He wants it, badly. He wants _Cas_.

It’s scary, organ swooping, breath quickening terrifying, to be faced with Cas like this now, all the force of his love, his attention, his lust. Wasted on Dean. Dean gasps a little again and rubs at the rumbling feeling in his chest. Cas doesn’t think it’s a waste, he reminds himself as Cas bends over to take off his dress shoes and his socks before stepping out of his pants. Cas is an angel, he can’t be tricked, not by Dean, not by Dean who wasn’t ever trying to trick him.

Cas loves him.

“Cas,” Dean says, hating how vulnerable his voice sounds as he reaches for Cas.

Cas, fully naked and glorious, steps between Dean’s legs. He cocks his head, confused. “Dean?” he asks, voice a soft rumble. “Are you alright?” He puts his fingertips on Dean’s cheekbone again.

Dean shivers. He’s still not sure if it’s his brain, or Cas’ grace, or some kind of static electricity, but it feels like the touch sparks across his skin.

“Nothin’,” Dean says. He can’t resist the temptation to reach out and touch Cas, to run his hand up and down his skin, to watch his hand leave gooseflesh in its wake.

“If you don’t want-” Cas starts, but Dean stops him with a pinch to his waist.

“I want,” he says, tipping his head up to kiss Cas again.

Cas accepts the kiss happily enough, opening his mouth, yielding to Dean’s tongue, draping his hands over Dean’s shoulders and sliding his fingers beneath the stretched collar of Dean’s worn t-shirt, stroking the skin beneath it.

“I wish to look at you naked,” Cas says when they break for air again.

“Whatever you want,” Dean agrees easily, pulling his shirt up over his head.

Cas runs his fingers through the strands of hair it leaves fluffed up, smiling something small and gentle.

Cas _loves_ him, that’s what it means, he loves Dean with his hair sticking up weirdly, and it’s all really starting to hit Dean again, that this impossible being has chosen him.

Dean tilts his head up again for another kiss, kicking off his boots, then his pants. It’s awkward to take his socks off with his toes, but he’s done it before, and Cas had said naked, so like hell Dean is going to fuck him with his socks on.

Cas must get tired of his squirming because he pushes Dean to lie back on the bed, making eye contact the whole time, as he takes off the socks and the pants still clinging to Dean’s ankles. Dean lies there, propped up on his elbows, unable to break Cas’ gaze.

“I want to suck your cock,” Cas announces.

Dean’s cock jerks in his lap at the idea. He doesn’t quite moan, but only because his voice has died somewhere in his throat. He swallows a few times, and then clears his throat, feeling silly even as he does. “Yeah,” he finally manages. “O-of course you can,” he stammers. “Do that. Um. I like it.”

 _I like it_. Fuck. What a stupid thing to say. But Cas is still staring at him, just as intense, the lines on his mouth a bit softer.

“I have never done this before,” Cas says. “But I believe I know how.”

Instantly Dean’s brain is a riot of thought. Dean has done this before, has sucked cocks, always in seedy bars with seedier bathrooms, in the outside chill with gravel and bits of glass beneath his knees. Always a stranger’s cock in his mouth as his brain prickled with the humiliation and taboo of it, the shame of actually liking the weight of a cock on his tongue.

But that was…something else completely, something utterly different than the way Cas is looking at him, like Dean is some deep, unfathomable thing worthy of an angel’s attention.

Cas leans down and kisses the line of Dean’s hipbone, his mouth hot, purposeful, like he’s trying to brand Dean with his touch again.

“Cas,” Dean gasps.

Cas shifts just enough that his nose brushes through the hair at the base of Dean’s cock.

“Oh, god.”

Cas lifts his head. “Please do not speak about Jack during sex,” he says, deadpan.

Dean gapes at him. “ _You’re_ the one bringing him up, man, I know you understand human expressions better than that.”

Cas smiles in that way he has when he thinks he’s been clever. “I thought a joke might relax you,” he says. And then, with no further pause, he swallows Dean’s cock.

Dean yelps and can’t help bucking into Cas’ throat. It doesn’t seem to matter though, because Cas has apparently decided that what he wants is to go straight to deep throating.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dean says, probably way too loud. “Fuck, Cas.”

Cas seems unconcerned with Dean’s unraveling sanity. He rides out the buck of his hips, humming in a pleased sort of way as he works his throat around the head of Dean’s throat.

Dean remembers now that Cas doesn’t actually have to breathe, that having Dean’s cock down his throat isn’t posing any problem for him. Dean winds his fingers back in Cas’ hair and just holds on. Because whatever lack of experience Cas has with blowjobs he’s more than making up for with enthusiasm and his _throat_ , god, Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been so deep in someone’s throat, it’s so hot. And when Cas does pull back, it’s to lick at the precome that’s leaking steadily out of the head of Dean’s cock. Then he opens his mouth again, sucking on the head gentle at first, but then _hard_ , and Dean comes, like a fucking teenager, all sudden and shocking and bright. He clutches at Cas’ hair and rocks his hips into his mouth, and Cas just _takes it_ , humming again, swallowing, until Dean can’t take it anymore, until his legs are shaking and his chest is heaving and his cock has softened.

Cas seems to instinctively understand when Dean has crossed the line into oversensitive, because he lets Dean’s spent cock fall from his mouth and crawls up Dean’s body, hovering over him.

“Hi,” Dean says breathlessly.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, his voice all gravel. He’s staring at Dean again, but this time, with the nice easy haze of an orgasm still hanging around him, it’s easier to accept. He meets Cas’ gaze easily. “Thank you,” Cas says.

Dean blinks at him. “Um, pretty sure I should be thankin’ you,” he manages.

“You are beautiful,” Cas says, simple, earnest, the way he’s been the whole time. “It is a privilege to see you so.”

“Oh,” Dean says, unsure how to respond, but still too relaxed to worry so much about it. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing Cas at the ribs and clumsily trying to pull him up even more.

Cas obeys him, shuffling up on his knees and then falling to the side when Dean rolls them.

“Wanna make you feel good,” Dean says, his voice low and gentler than he means it to be.

“You do,” Cas says, and Dean can tell he means it.

Dean smiles. “I want to make you _come_ , Cas.”

“Oh,” Cas says.

Dean grins at him and wraps a hand around Cas’ cock.

Cas’ gasp is genuine, his eyes widening.

Dean wants to kiss him, but he also wants to watch, wants to see every minute change in Cas’ facial expressions, every flutter of his eyelashes, every bob of his Adam’s apple, the deepening of the color on his cheeks. This is Cas, unguarded in pleasure, giving his holy body up to Dean. His cock is thick in Dean’s hand, hot with blood, getting wetter, stickier with precome as Dean keeps stroking. He switches hands, fondling Cas’ balls with his left so he can lick his right hand. His palm already tastes salty and dark with sweat and sex, and it makes Dean’s brain go a little staticky. He grips Cas tight with his wet palm and jacks it fast, taking it up a notch.

“Ah!” Cas says, tipping his head back. “Dean.”

“’M here,” Dean murmurs, unable to resist the temptation to lick at the line of Cas’ stubble where it spills over his chin and down his throat.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says, almost wondrous.

“Good?”

“Yes, Dean, oh,” Cas gasps. He puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, gripping just like he must have once long ago to pull Dean close and save him, just like he had to push Dean away and save him then too.

“Love you, Cas,” Dean says, looking into Cas’ blue, blue eyes as Cas gasps and shudders, thrusting minutely into Dean’s fist.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Cas chants, like a prayer, like a benediction. The world shimmers around him, a blue-yellow glow. “Close your eyes!” he gasps, tugging Dean’s face into his shoulder by his hair.

Dean goes, listens, and even through his closed eyelids he can see the flash of light, feel the buzz of power, the hum of sound that explodes around them as Cas comes into Dean’s palm, across his wrist, up his arm, onto his chest.

Dean works him gently through the aftershocks, kissing the skin under his lips until Cas’ hips stop twitching and his hands relax in Dean’s hair.

Dean pulls back to look at Cas’ face. Cas doesn’t look as blissed out as he expected, he instead looks…shy almost, uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says.

Dean stiffens immediately. “Why?” he asks, chest constricting around his heart.

“I broke the lamp,” Cas says.

Dean stares at him, trying to understand. “The…lamp?”

“The lamp,” Cas says, almost sadly, looking beyond Dean’s shoulder.

Dean tilts his head around to look, and sure enough, the lamp that’s usually on his bedside table, that had been on, is now a mess of glass. So is the lamp on the dresser, and, Dean suspects, the floor lamp on the other side of the room. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “You did.”

“I apologize,” Cas says.

“No, uh, it’s fine,” Dean says, trying to figure out how to explain how little humans care about lamps in the aftermath of fantastic sex.

“I lost control,” Cas continues. “I could have hurt you,” he murmurs, gently running a finger over the lines at the corner of Dean’s eye.

Oh. That’s something Dean can understand. “It’s fine,” he says. “I closed my eyes.”

“I did not think that would happen,” Cas says, and he still looks sad.

“But it’s okay that it did,” Dean says. “Right? I mean, it didn’t like, hurt you, or anythin’, right?”

“No,” Cas says. “I found the experience…quite pleasurable.”

Dean grins. That’s more like it. “Good. So did I.”

Cas smiles at him and Dean can’t help but kiss him again.

A knocking at the door interrupts them.

They break apart. Dean looks at Cas, who scrunches up his face in confusion.

More knocking.

“What the fuck,” Dean grumbles. He thought for sure that Sam was going to make himself scarce for a while yet. If there’s another apocalypse already Sam can handle it by his damn self.

“Dean?” It is Sam’s voice, accompanying another round of knocks. “Please tell me that was you guys.”

Dean groans. “It’s not very polite to comment on noises that you may happen to overhear!” he snaps at Sam.

Cas chuckles a little, and Dean kicks him in the shin. Gently.

“Uh, gross,” Sam says. “I’m talking about the lights.”

“The lights?” Dean repeats, looking at the remains of his lamps.

“Yeah, the power to this whole section of the bunker just blew.”

 _Whoops_ , Cas mouths to Dean.

Dean can’t help himself; he starts sniggering. It had been hot as fuck to see Cas lose control like that, flattering that it had been Dean’s hands on him that had caused it. In the warm afterglow, Dean feels _happy,_ finds it embarrassingly charming that Cas had gone all supernova angel during his orgasm.

“Sorry, Sam,” Cas says, once it’s clear that Dean isn’t going to get a hold of himself.

“Ah, um, it’s okay,” Sam says awkwardly. “Can you, uh, fix it?”

Cas hums, and Dean can _feel_ it, both his vocalization, pressed together as they are, but also the feeling of his grace, sweeping out across him. Beside them, the lamps repair themselves and click on again, glowing softly.

“Thanks,” Sam says.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean calls.

“What?”

Dean can practically hear Sam’s bitchface.

“Fuck off.”

Cas hides his own sniggers against the skin of Dean’s neck.

“Fuck you too,” Sam calls, but it’s good-natured.

“I’m trying,” Cas complains, his voice low.

It sets Dean off again in his own round of sniggers. When he finally recovers, Cas is looking at him, staring.

“What?” Dean says, trying hard not to blush or squirm.

“You are happy,” Cas notes.

“Yeah,” Dean admits gruffly, flicking his eyes away, overwhelmed. It’s all too much, the way Cas’ gaze makes him feel, flayed open and bare, too raw to accept the overwhelming force of his love.

“Good,” Cas says, kissing Dean’s cheek. “I am glad.”

Dean loses the battle against his blush. “Shuddup,” he grumbles but he doesn’t mean it.

“I would like to do that again,” Cas says.

“So would I,” Dean says, smiling.

“Like…now,” Cas clarifies. “I wish to have more sex now.”

Dean laughs a little and then he stares. Because Cas’ eyes are staring into his, earnest and dark. “Oh,” is all he can say, stupidly.

Cas rolls them over so he’s on top of Dean again. “Yes,” he says. “I wish…” He pauses. Purses his lips. “I have had fantasies,” he begins again. “About you. Without your permission. I apologize.”

“No, man, that’s uh, it’s fine.” Dean winces. _Man_? What is wrong with him?

Cas is looking at him, a little frown between his eyes. “It was an invasion of your privacy,” he says. “I should not have taken liberties with my perception of you.”

“No, it’s, it is fine, really,” Dean says, stuck on the fact that Cas had fantasized about him, _Cas_ , who in the past largely approached sex clinically, curiously, who, as far as Dean understands, doesn’t even _have_ sexual urges. That Cas has spent time fantasizing about sex with _Dean_. It’s a lot to take in. “I, uh, took some liberties with your form too,” he admits, hoping it will make the guilty expression on Cas’ face go away.

It seems to work, because Cas’ eyes go all bright and interested the way they do when he’s curious about something. “You did?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I mean, you know.” He tries shrugging, anything to make him feel less exposed and raw. “I was into you. I, uh, am. Into you. So I thought about you when I was…you know.”

“I am flattered,” Cas says, face easy and relaxed now.

It makes it easier for Dean to convince his fluttering, stupid heart that it’s fine. “Yeah? Well, so am I. I didn’t know you…had thoughts like that.”

Cas ducks his head a little. “I do not, usually,” he admits. “I have only ever had them about you.”

Heat leaps in Dean’s stomach, reaching up to his chest, through his lungs and his heart. He reaches out, feeling up Cas’ thigh, the soft, warm skin, the skritch of his body hair, the firmness of the muscle underneath. “What were they?” he asks. “Your fantasies. What did you think about when you thought about me?”

Cas’ eyes seem glued to Dean’s hand on his thigh. He licks his lips and Dean’s stomach swoops. “I imagined your cock,” Cas says. “I have never taken a cock. I would like to take yours.” He meets Dean’s eyes again, dark and intense.

If Dean was twenty years old again, he thinks just that sentence would have gotten him hard again. As it is though…“Fuck, Cas,” he says. “I-I don’t know if I can.”

“There is lubrication,” Cas says. “To make it easier.”

Dean is helpless against the urge to smile, though he tries to bury it in the pillow. “It’s, uh, not that,” he says.

“Then what?” Cas prompts. He runs his big warm hands up Dean’s torso, his touch curious, all wandering palms and undefined patterns. “I would know if you had been injured.”

“I’m not injured,” Dean assures him, because he doesn’t want Cas to worry. He doesn’t want to see the little furrow between his eyebrows when he pulls his face out of the pillow. He keeps up his petting of Cas’ thigh. “I’m just…” _Old. Human. Useless._ “Forty-two,” he settles on. He rolls his eyes to the side to peak at Cas’ face.

Cas mouths the words back to him, _Forty-two_ , like there’s a mystery in them, like he can’t understand why Dean is bringing up his age.

Dean really, _really_ , doesn’t want to have to explain to Cas that he’s too old to get it up again. The humiliation of it burns in his mind, unpleasant and prickly, nothing like the warmth in his chest or the heat in his belly. But Cas is still looking at him, clearly confused. Dean swallows. “I’m human,” he tries.

“I know,” Cas says, then waits, like he expects Dean to elaborate.

Dean bites his lip. “I can’t…I might not be able to, y’know, go again,” he mumbles, trying very hard not to blush.

“Oh,” is all Cas says.

“Yeah, sorry,” Dean says. He looks away from Cas, words tumbling out, too fast, too graceless, too obviously a coverup. “Human bodies. Get old and stop workin’ an’ shit.”

“Dean,” Cas says gently. “Are you upset?”

“No,” Dean lies.

“I am sorry,” Cas says, petting Dean’s chest gently. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

Fuck. Now Dean feels guilty. He swallows again and forces himself to look back at Cas. “No, it’s fine,” he mumbles. “It doesn’t mean…it’s not because I don’t like ya, or I don’t want to. I can still, you know, help you out.” He smiles, a cocky flirtatious grin. “I could blow ya,” he offers.

Cas’ eyes flick to Dean’s lips. “I want that,” he says quietly.

Dean grins and goes to sit up, but Cas’ hand on his sternum stops him.

“But I want to touch you,” Cas says. “I want to feel you, kiss you. I want to…indulge in your body, if I may.” Cas actually looks like he’s blushing, but he doesn’t look away. “However, if that would not be pleasurable for you, I understand.”

Dean flops back on the bed, not sure what to make of it. So few of his lovers have ever wanted to take their time with him, to go slow. He’s not sure how to respond. Except that the warmth spreading out from his stupid, pounding heart is expanding with the idea. “Okay,” he says. He wants to give Cas what he wants.

Cas takes his permission, straddling Dean’s hips, hovering above him, before he leans down to kiss Dean, slow and wet.

Dean winds a hand into Cas’ hair and holds him there, happy to follow Cas’ lead, to focus on kissing while Cas’ hands roam his body. They sweep up his sides, into Dean’s armpits, which no other lover has ever paid attention to before, but which Cas seems to find fascinating. He pets through the hair Dean has there, which makes him squirm, and tugs on it gently, which makes Dean gasp.

“Cas, what’re you doing?” he asks, his voice rough.

“Exploring,” Cas says simply, biting gently at one of Dean’s earlobes. “Do you not like it?”

“No, it’s…it’s good,” Dean says. Because it _is_. Cas had meant it when he said he wanted to experience Dean’s body. His fingers stroke up Dean’s underarms, dipping into the bend of his elbows, stroking at the soft skin there, while his mouth finds the spot behind Dean’s ear that makes it hard for Dean to catch his breath.

Cas’ hands sweep back up Dean’s arms, stroking over the curve of his shoulders, before curling around to his chest again. He thumbs at Dean’s nipples and makes a happy sort of rumbling sound when it makes Dean groan and arch his chest into the touch. He drags his mouth down too, sucking on the underside of Dean’s jaw as his hands go lower, over his ribs, as though Cas is counting them. His right hand trails back up, finally settling over Dean’s rapidly beating heart.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, closing his eyes, overwhelmed by the gesture.

“I am here,” Cas says. He moves his head again so he can kiss the top of Dean’s throat, then his adam’s apple, and then the base of his throat.

Dean tries not to get choked up.

Cas moves his mouth along the line of Dean’s collarbone, warm wet trails across it, following the arch of Dean’s shoulder to kiss at the soft skin of Dean’s armpit.

Dean gasps again, feeling wildly vulnerable, exposed. It feels much more like Cas is seeing straight through him, touching something so much deeper than Dean’s skin. It’s terrifying.

It’s exhilarating.

Cas continues to kiss down Dean’s arm, lifting his right arm as he does, until he gets to Dean’s hand, where he drops a kiss on the center of his palm, and then moves onto each fingertip.

Dean is trembling by the time Cas drops his hand and moves on to laying a kiss on each of Dean’s ribs, starting at the bottom, working his way up, all the while toying with Dean’s left nipple as his palm rests steadily over Dean’s heart.

Dean can only gasp and try not to do anything too embarrassing like cry, his left hand digging into Cas’ shoulder and his right clutching desperately at Cas’ bicep.

Then Cas gets his mouth around Dean’s right nipple and Dean arches hard, a cry escaping him. Maybe he _can_ get hard again. He definitely feels like his whole body is on fire, bright sparks chaining just under his skin, lighting him up from the inside out everywhere Cas touches.

Dean’s nipple feels swollen and hot by the time Cas lets it go, sitting back and smoothing his palms over Dean’s pecs. Part of Dean’s mind grasps around desperately for some joke about boobs, but he can’t come up with anything.

“You are stunning,” Cas declares.

Dean wants to look away, but he can’t, can only gasp in air and drown in Cas’ blue eyes. “Cas,” he says, hating how his voice cracks.

“It was all worth it,” Cas says, his voice low and wonderous. “I would do it again, all of it, everything, for you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s next breath is too wet. “Fuck, Cas,” he mumbles. “I…you…I’ve wanted you so bad, for so long, man, I can’t…”

“Hush,” Cas says, stroking soothingly down Dean’s chest. “I can feel you.”

“Feel me?” Dean repeats.

Cas nods. “Your feelings for me right now. The longing, the desire, the love, it’s calling to me, pulling me close.”

“’M I prayin’ to you right now?” Dean asks.

“In a way,” Cas says. “You are loving me. I can feel that.”

He kisses Dean again, and Dean thinks he understands, just a little, what Cas is saying, because he feels loved when Cas kisses him like this, when Cas puts his hand back over Dean’s fluttering heart. Cas pulls back to continue down Dean’s body, mouth soft, worshipful as he kisses his way across Dean’s skin. And that’s what it is, Dean understands now. Worship. Cas is worshipping _him_ , a broken, fucked up man, with blood staining his hands and his arms and his whole being, somehow, because he finds Dean to be worthy of it.

Dean would hide his face by flinging an arm over it, but that would mean he’d have to stop touching Cas, and he can’t bring himself to do that.

Cas trails down to Dean’s navel, sucking and tonguing at Dean’s bellybutton, which makes Dean snort a little and squirm a bit. He can feel Cas smile against the soft skin of his stomach. Cupping his hands around Dean’s hips, Cas noses at the hair at the base of Dean’s cock again, and, what do you know, Dean _is_ getting hard for the second time tonight.

But Cas ignores his cock for now, moving onto Dean’s hipbone, and lifts Dean’s right leg so he can lick a long stripe up the underside of Dean’s thigh, flicking his tongue against the bend of Dean’s knee.

Dean’s never been touched like this before, but it’s not unpleasant, so he lets Cas do as he likes, tasting the sweat on Dean’s skin, exploring the textures of it, Dean thinks. Cas’ hand rubs around the ball of Dean’s ankle, gently soothing, as he bites experimentally into the meat of Dean’s calf.

Dean groans into it, pleased, happy to be marked.

Cas works at that spot for several long moments, until he’s apparently satisfied and pulls back. He lifts Dean’s foot off the bed and kisses the arch of it, light and gentle before putting it back down on the bed.

“Ngh,” Dean says because he feels like he should say something, but can’t for the life of him remember how to form words.

Cas nuzzles at the crook of Dean’s knee again and then rests his head against it. “May I touch you?” he asks.

Dean manages an “Um,” confused.

“Your cock,” Cas clarifies. “You will not be too sensitive?”

Dean shakes his head, and then he nods.

Cas looks up at him, eyes wide and dark.

Dean swallows. “No, not too sensitive,” he manages, voice raspy. “Yes, you can.”

Cas smiles at him and wraps his fingers around Dean’s cock, pumping slowly, fingers long and strong.

Dean groans again, deep in his chest.

Cas hums against his skin and drags his thumb up to press against the underside of the head of Dean’s dick.

Dean groans again. It’s almost too much, he can’t remember the last time he got hard twice in one night, especially not after such a good first orgasm, but Cas’ touch is doing it for him, his cock hot and heavy. Cas seems content to just stroke him, trying different grips, speeds, touches, trying to discover what Dean likes. They all make Dean gasp and thrust, so he’s not sure if Cas is actually discovering much. Apparently, Dean likes anything as long as it’s from Cas’ hand.

Cas shifts, pressing a kiss to the tip of Dean’s dick, before he sits up and crawls over Dean’s body again. He sticks his hand out and suddenly there’s a bottle of lube in it, and Dean has to huff a laugh.

“Neat party trick,” he murmurs.

“There are some perks to being an angel,” Cas says, pouring the lube into his hand. He coats his fingers with it and then slides them back. Dean can’t see, not from this angle, but he can tell by Cas’ gasp and the way his spine goes straight when he’s started fingering himself.

“Go slow,” Dean says, running his own hands up and down Cas’ sides, mimicking what Cas had done to him earlier, slow, broad, sweeping touches.

Cas growls a little. “I am impatient to have your cock in me,” he says, voice low and sharp with the growl, and it makes Dean burn hotter.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Dean says. “It’s not always good the first time.”

Cas frowns down at him. “I am not in pain,” he says, and he must do something more to himself, because his eyes flutter and his lips part. He licks them twice before he speaks again. “I am sorry your first time was painful.”

Dean averts his eyes again. It hadn’t been that bad, not really. The guy had used enough lube and had worn a condom, and he’d paid Dean well, and that had been all Dean had been looking for. He hadn’t even bled after. “It wasn’t,” he says.

Cas runs the fingers of his clean hand across Dean’s brow. “I will not hurt you,” he vows.

“I know,” Dean says, flexing his fingers against Cas’ skin. “I know, Cas.”

Cas leans down and presses his forehead against Dean’s. “I cannot take your pain,” he says. “But I will replace it. With me. With pleasure.”

“Okay,” Dean agrees softly.

Cas nudges at his temple with his forehead before pulling back again.

Dean looks back at him, looks at the line of him, of Cas’ body, flushed but not sweating, human and not, at the same time. He’s riding his fingers in earnest now, hips rocking, wrist flicking, eyelids fluttering. Dean can’t bear to not be a part of it anymore. “Let me,” he says, putting his own fingers on Cas’ wrist.

Cas lets him pull his hand out and replace Cas’ fingers with his own. Cas is tight and smooth around Dean’s two fingers, not quite wet enough for a smooth slide, Dean’s calluses catching.

Cas moans though, and starts shoving his hips back. “Dean,” he calls. “Dean, Dean, Dean.”

“I’ve got ya,” Dean says.

“Fuck me,” Cas demands.

Dean scrambles for the lube bottle, popping it open one handed and taking his other hand out of Cas to nudge at his hip.

Cas obeys, sliding back and snatching the lube from Dean, pouring more on his own hand before wrapping it around Dean’s cock.

Dean groans and throws his head back, fucking Cas’ fist on instinct.

Cas takes his hands away and Dean’s eyes fly open, drawn like magnets to Cas, who is settling above him.

Dean steadies his dick in one hand and Cas’ hip in the other and then Cas is sinking down, onto his cock, and Dean moans, something from deep in his chest, at the shock of it, of having Cas around him, surrounding him, of being inside of Cas.

Cas wants this, biting his lips red, throwing his head back. “Dean,” he says, rapturously. “Oh, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He feels hot, like all of his skin is too small, like there are charges beneath his skin that are being set off. “Fuck.”

“Mm,” Cas agrees. He raises himself up and then fucks himself down, gasping with the shock of it.

Dean has half a thought to make sure Cas is okay, but then Cas is doing it again, and again, and Dean takes his hips and plants his feet and fucks up into him and Cas wails. Once they’ve started there’s no stopping, no slowing down, just both of them, trying to get deeper, closer. Cas’ eyes are boring into Dean’s, and Dean can’t look away. This is what Cas looks like when he’s chasing his pleasure, eyes wide and dark, fathomless, lips bitten red, forming words that Dean can’t hear or catch.

Cas comes without warning, just a cry and a rush of air around them, a physical force that rattles the bed and all the things Dean has up in his room.

Dean’s breath stops in his chest, watching his angel come on top of him, because of him, and then Cas is kissing him and Dean forgets who he is, where he is. All he knows is that he belongs to Cas, that Cas belongs to him.

The next time he’s aware of anything Cas is lying next to him on the bed, drawing shapes on Dean’s chest with his fingers. If Dean had to guess, he would say it’s Enochian, but he doesn’t know what Cas is writing.

“Mm,” he manages intelligently.

Cas shifts and lays his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you, Dean,” he says, like last time.

Dean kisses him, sloppy, and only getting the corner of Cas’ mouth, but he’s too tired for much else.

Cas runs his fingers into Dean’s hair. “Sleep,” he says.

“Stay?” Dean asks against his cheek.

“Yes,” Cas agrees, and Dean falls asleep with the brush of Cas’ lips on his cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets his wings back, Dean gets his ass fucked. Everyone's a winner.

Dean wakes, slow and confused, to the confused murmur of voices.

“I’m sorry, I only meant to come to you, I didn’t know Dean would be here.”

It sounds like Jack.

“It’s alright,” Cas says, his voice low. Dean can feel the vibrations of his voice through where his head is pillowed on Cas’ chest.

He murmurs a little and can’t help nuzzling his head into Cas’ chest.

Cas pets through the back of Dean’s hair. It’s nice, and Dean feels himself relaxing into the sensation, floating somewhere between wakefulness and sleep.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Jack says. “I can come back later.”

“S’alright,” Dean slurs sleepily. Jack must be busy now, and well, he gave Dean the chance to save Cas. And he’s _Jack_. Dean can wake up for him. “Wa’sup?” he asks, lifting his head up and opening his eyes blurrily.

Jack in bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “I want to fix things,” he says. “I don’t want to do things the way Chuck did, I want to do them _better_.”

Dean smiles at him. “Trust me, kid, you’re gonna do way better.”

Jack smiles at him, all earnest enthusiasm, and fuck, but Dean’s heart warms at the sight.

“There’s a lot of work to do,” Jack says, turning to Cas. “I could use some help.” He extends his hands, fingers overing in the air between him and Cas. “Will you help me?” he asks.

Cas sits up in bed, gently taking Dean with him. Dean props himself up on one elbow while Cas rolls onto his knees, facing Jack. Dean has the sense that there’s something more to their communication right now, something he’s too sleep-slow or too human to understand.

“Yes,” Cas says, voice deep and serious.

Jack smiles and touches his fingers to Cas’ forehead.

There’s a burst of light, so strong that Dean could swears he feels the waves of it. He closes his eyes instinctively, and throws his arm over them as the light pierces through his eyelids. It’s golden, and warm, and makes Dean’s heart pound and his breath catch in his chest. The air feels heavy with it, charged, powerful, but not scary.

Cas gasps, loud, and rushing, and then there’s another shift in the air. Dean’s ears feel like they pop, and when he lifts his arm from his eyes to rub at them, he feels Cas’ hand slap over his eyes.

He also feels something hit his shoulder where it’s tilted up, not quite solid, but not like air either. Gently, moving slowly, Dean moves his arm more, brushing against it. It’s like touching static, crackling energy, but at the same time it’s warm, like the heat coming off of a comforting fire, and soft, soft beyond even the softest fur or the finest silk. He knows instinctively that he’s touching Cas’ wings. He’s never thought about it, never even wondered, not really. Cas’ wings had always seemed like something…other, something not allowed. And then, after Cas had lost them, Dean hadn’t wanted to ask him about it, about how it had felt to have his grace and his powers, to have everything he was, stripped from him. He knows well enough what it’s like to have your sense of self torn, he didn’t need to hear it from Cas.

“Cas,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers through what he can imagine as feathers, eyes still shut behind Cas’ palm, warm and big, contrastingly earth-bound and human. He would say it feels like he’s trailing his fingers through liquid, except there’s nothing wet about it, it’s warm, and smooth.

Before Dean can think about it too much, there’s another shift of the air, and the touch against his fingers disappears. The air settles, the energy dissipating, the pressure returning.

Cas moves his hand and Dean opens his eyes.

Neither Cas nor Jack are actually glowing in any way other than figurative, although they probably both could now, if they felt like it.

“Thank you, Jack,” Cas says. He rolls his shoulders a bit, like he’s readjusting to himself.

Jack is smiling.

“Wanna stick around a bit, kid?” Dean asks. “I can make us dinner. Breakfast? Fuck, what time is it?” It’s been a long time since Dean has allowed himself so deeply that we woke up unaware of what time it is.

“It’s late,” Cas says, petting the skin of Dean’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Dean says. “Well, it doesn’t mean we can’t still eat.”

“I’ll come back,” Jack says. “For breakfast. And I’ll take Castiel back with me afterwards.” He smiles at them both before there’s another woosh of air and he’s gone.

“Kids,” Dean says, teasing, sitting himself up a bit more so he can nuzzle his head against Cas’ shoulder. He feels a bit ridiculous, sappy, doing so, but Cas is warm and he runs his fingers through the hair on the back of Dean’s head. “How d’you feel?” Dean asks. “All mojo’d up again?”

“Yes,” Cas says, and Dean knows him so well, loves him so much, he can picture the small half smile Cas probably has.

“Feel good?” Dean asks, his lips moving against Cas’ warm skin.

“Yes,” Cas says again.

Dean slides a hand up his back, rubbing up Cas’s spine, flattening over where his wings would be if they were corporeal. “Your wings felt cool,” he says, because he’s still enough asleep to say so. “Cool” seems like such an inadequate word for what it had felt like to feel something so otherworldly, but he’s not a poet, or even smart with his words, like Sam, so all he can do is hope Cas understands him anyways. “Could I see ‘em?” He remembers vividly every single time he’s seen Cas’ wings, projected onto the walls behind him, light cracking, shining. Even the time he saw them as burnt impressions in the ground, fallen, gone, dead, just like Cas had been. Dean wishes he could forget that one, but, well.

Cas hums thoughtfully. “Not directly,” he says.

Dean swallows his disappointment. “Well, guess I don’t want my eyes burnt out,” he says.

“I could show you an approximation,” Cas says. “A…projection, of what they look like. Tailored for the human mind.”

“You could?” Dean asks, pulling back, smiling in eagerness.

Cas smiles back at him. He closes his eyes and then when he opens them six great wings unfurl from his back.

Dean gapes openly. There’s three pairs of wings, the topmost pair the largest of the three, arcing over the other two. They’re black, at least at first look, but the next second they’re shimmering, shifting, like an oil slick, Dean thinks, a black so deep that it’s reflecting rainbows, reds and purples, greens and blues.

“Holy shit,” Dean says. “Cas…they’re…wow.”

Cas’ wings flutter as he smiles.

They’re not one continuous color either. Every inch, every feather seems to shimmer and change in front of Dean’s eyes. Dean reaches out a hand, slow, giving Cas plenty of time to see it coming.

Cas doesn’t jerk back, instead he tilts his left wing closer to Dean’s questing hand. It feels the same way it had earlier, smooth, warm, light. It’s hard for Dean to describe, to understand really, the miracle of what he’s seeing, experiencing. And if this is just an approximation…he thinks he can understand why people who see angels in their true form lose their minds.

Cas flexes his wings a bit, separating the three of them, letting Dean slip his fingers over the feathers, through them, in between the wings themselves. They’re thick, and _huge_ , spilling out over Dean’s bed and across his floor. Dean spreads his fingers out, catching more of Cas’ feathers in his fingers.

Cas fluffs them up for him and Dean smiles, wrapping his pointer finger and his thumb gently around one of Cas’ feathers.

“This alright?” he asks. “It don’t hurt or nothin’?”

“No,” Cas says. His voice is low, head tilted as he watches Dean explore his wing.

“Can you feel it all?” Dean asks. “Since these’re, what d’ya say? Projections?”

“I can feel it,” Cas says. “I have…manifested my wings in an approximation of their true shape.”

“What’re they like?” Dean can’t help asking, still petting through Cas’ wings. He runs a finger across the top of the second wing and it flutters a little in response. “I know I can’t see ‘em, but, can you describe ‘em?”

“Human terms are so limited,” Cas says. He sounds so pouty that Dean snorts. “The scale of them is the same,” Cas continues. “My true form is quite a bit larger than this one. So are my wings.”

With the way that Cas’ wings are scaled down and still fill an entire room, Dean finds it hard to imagine how large and grand they must be.

“They are more…integrated with my true form,” Cas says. “I do not, technically speaking, have a back. My wings are intertwined with the rest of my body.”

“You’ve never told me what you look like,” Dean murmurs. He digs his nails in a little bit at the base of some of the feathers, and gets them to fluff up again. It seems like Cas likes that. “Bet you’re hot.” He drags his gaze back to Cas’ face to wink at him.

Cas chuckles and gives Dean a small smile that Dean is slowly realizing is one Cas gives when he thinks Dean is being cute. He’s been doing it for years.

It’s hard to think about that.

“I am hot,” Cas says. “My core is made up of fire.”

“Really?” Dean asks. “Burning wheels of flame ‘n all that?”

“Something like that,” Cas agrees. “My core is energy. It is easiest for the human mind to translate that as fire. The wheels are…rings. Circling manifestations of intent, of thought, of direction.”

“Sounds cool,” Dean says, because, well, it does. It’s hard to imagine, especially because he’s so used to Cas, used to seeing him as he appears to Dean. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Cas is a being of magnificent celestial power. He’s just…Cas. Dean’s Cas. “Wish I could see you without losin’ my eyes.”

Cas is staring at him, eyes wide now, gaze dissecting, searching.

“What?” Dean asks. “What’s that face for?”

“I would not be what you expect,” Cas says softly. “I am not human, Dean.”

“Dude, I know. You’ve got like, twenty feet of wingspan spread out over my floor right now,” Dean points out. As is easy as it is to forget how powerful Cas is beneath it all, it’s equally impossible to forget. It’s in all the things that make Cas _Cas_ , the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, the tilt of his head and the quint of his eyes.

Cas’ lips twitch. “This is a form you can understand. You may not…like what the rest of an angelic being entails.”

Holy shit. Is Cas being…self-conscious? Dean doesn’t think that even once, in their entire acquaintance, Cas has worried about his appearance.

Gently, carefully, he leans forward and presses his lips to the arch of Cas’ lowest wing.

Cas gasps audibly and the wing shivers beneath Dean’s lips.

It’s a strange sensation, tingly and sharp almost, beneath a texture so soft that it feels like it’s slipping off, around, Dean’s lips.

Cas’ fingers stroke across Dean’s shoulder, up to his neck, pressing lightly.

“Cas, c’mon,” Dean murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak. “I love you, we just went through this. I’ll find a way to kiss you even when you’re all firey energy.”

“My true form has four heads,” Cas says, straight-faced and serious.

Dean grins at him. “Then I’ll kiss all of them,” he says, before taking this head of Cas’ and kissing it.

Cas’ mouth opens for him easily, tongue warm and wet where it flicks into Dean’s mouth. Cas holds onto Dean by his ribs, seemingly determined to stick his tongue as far down Dean’s throat as possible.

Dean groans into the kiss and yields to it, to Cas’ questing tongue, to the fingertips likely leaving bruises over his ribs, to the arms pushing him back to lay on the bed.

Cas pulls back, eyes dark and glittering. His wings shift behind him, fluttering, restless. “Dean,” he says.

Arousal curls hot and deep in Dean’s gut. “Yeah,” he says, reaching up, tracing Cas’ jaw in one hand, running the other through his wings again.

Cas flaps them again in response, a little bit harder this time. It ruffles their hair, the sheets, the weapons on the wall.

“Oh,” Dean says.

“They are…hard to control in this plane,” Cas says, frowning. “Especially when I lose focus.”

“You sayin’ I shouldn’t distract you?” Dean says, teasing, as he runs the pads of his fingers up Cas’ hardening cock.

Cas gasps, pushing his hips into the touch. His back arches, and his wings spread out with it, all six of them rising, separating. They’re fucking glowing from within, the blinding blue-white of grace curling around each feather, in between them.

Dean gasps, squinting his eyes instinctively against the light.

“Fuck,” Cas says, and there’s a rushing sound and the wings are gone.

Dean frowns. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“I assume it’s frowned upon to accidentally blind your partner during sex,” Cas says.

Just hearing Cas say the world “sex” makes Dean flush hot with arousal. “We’ll work on that,” he says.

Cas runs a finger up and down Dean’s chest.

Dean lets him, content to let Cas explore him again, let the arousal build slow and easy.

“Will you turn over for me, Dean?” Cas asks, eyes dark and intense.

Dean does, letting Cas help by tugging his hips up and over.

“Gorgeous,” Cas murmurs lowly, and Dean shivers. He runs a finger down Dean’s spine, following the dip all the way to the top of Dean’s ass. He fans his hands out across the top of it, pressing into the muscle before he drags them up to Dean’s waist.

Dean exhales and lets his body relax to Cas. This is different, at least for sex, for Dean. Time had always been an issue with and Dad and Sam around, with another case to work, with a monster on the loose. Dean’s partners had by and large gone straight for it, for his mouth, his cock, his ass, with the occasional detours to places like his nipples, his hips, his balls. But Cas…Cas is simply pressing kisses up the line of Dean’s spine, from his midback all the way up to the spot between his shoulder blades, where he presses his teeth gently against the skin.

Dean gasps.

Cas presses his teeth harder into Dean’s skin, nipping, sharp little pricks of teeth before he trails his mouth up to suck at the knob at the top of Dean’s neck.

Dean groans and feels himself go boneless, relaxing under Cas.

“Dean,” Cas says, in his low voice. It vibrates through Dean, makes him gasp and shiver even as he surrenders.

“Yes, Cas,” Dean says in return.

Cas kisses the base of his skull, where his hairline starts. It’s so sweet and unexpected that Dean makes a soft, vulnerable noise into the pillow that he hates immediately.

Cas doesn’t say anything, just keeps running his hands up and down Dean’s sides and trails his mouth over to kiss behind his ear.

Dean closes his eyes and tries not to think, not to think about what it means that Cas wants to worship all of him, wants to kiss him softly and stroke his skin even though Dean can feel Cas’ erection whenever he shifts his weight. Cas doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, mouthing his way down the back of Dean’s neck, over his shoulders, licking across the line of his shoulder blades.

He scrapes his nails down the line of Dean’s spine, the scratches followed by the scrape of his facial hair and the wet of his tongue.

By the time Cas is back to Dean’s hips, kneading at the muscles of his ass, nibbling at the base of his spine, Dean is arching for it, panting into the pillow, too turned on to think too hard about Cas’ gentleness, at his attentions on Dean’s ass.

Cas nuzzles at it and Dean just groans. The skin of his ass is sensitive, and Cas’ scruff feels rougher, hotter, here.

Cas pulls back a little and instead turns his focus on giving Dean a hickey on his right ass cheek.

Dean’s hands clutch around the sheets where they’re resting under his pillow.

“Dean, I would very much like to stimulate you orally,” Cas says.

It takes Dean’s sex-stupid brain a couple seconds to pick through the phrase. “Like…my ass?”

“Yes.”

Dean smiles into the pillow and his heart makes his chest thump with affection. With…love. It’s love. He loves that Cas is polite enough to ask first, and he loves that Cas, despite all his years amongst humans, still has his awkward, stilted, charming, sweet, weird fucking speech patterns.

Dean really loves him, fuck.

“It’s called rimming, Cas,” he says, still smiling.

“I know,” Cas says, something like a sigh in his voice. “I want to rim you, Dean. I want to stick my tongue in your ass.”

Dean wants to laugh, it’s weird, hearing Cas talk that way, but it also goes straight to his dick, twitching against his sheets. “Yeah,” he pants. “Yeah, Cas, you can eat my ass.”

“Thank you,” Cas says, and then his hands are lower, pulling Dean’s ass cheeks apart. He licks once, soft, a gentle pass of tongue.

Dean shivers. He’s done this before, to a few of the more adventurous girls he’d been with, but he’s never had anyone do it to him. He’s glad that it’s Cas.

Dean’s never been so aware of his asshole, not even those times he was being fucked. Every nerve seems to be ready, anticipating, over-sensitive. The soft puff of Cas’ breath feels like wind, and his tongue, his tongue when it flicks out of his mouth, still testing, curious, feels impossibly wet.

Dean gasps and crumples the sheets further in his hands. Cas’ tongue is just licking, tasting the skin around Dean’s asshole, the skin below it, his chin and his stubble scraping against the underside of Dean’s balls when he angles his face a certain way. It’s already almost too much, and Cas’ tongue isn’t even in his ass yet. Dean really, really hopes that Cas likes how he tastes. Oh, god, when’s the last time he showered?

Then Cas, with his usual directness, flicks his tongue into Dean’s ass. Not all the way even yet, just the tip of it licking just past the rim.

Dean gasps and tries to stay very still and not dislodge Cas.

Cas pulls down a little and scraps his scruff across the soft skin of Dean’s ass.

Dean groans, which Cas seems to take as a sign, because next he’s back between the cheeks, licking, flick, flick, flick, and then pressing his tongue in deep, briefly, before pulling back out.

Dean shivers, and feels cold and lonely for half a second, but doesn’t have any time to think about it further because Cas’ mouth is back. Every press of his mouth, every pass of his tongue gets more and more demanding, gets deeper, gets wetter. Dean’s acting on instinct, pushing his hips back onto Cas’ tongue is tiny hitching movements.

Cas groans, and Dean can feel the vibrations of it. He presses his face forward, just a little, impossible bit closer to meet the roll of Dean’s hips.

“F-fuck,” Dean stammers when Cas sticks what must be his whole tongue in.

Cas makes a pleased noise, muffled of course by Dean’s ass, and Dean’s next breath is stuttery, broken.

“Cas,” he gasps, and Cas responds by fucking him harder with his tongue. Relentless wet pushes, in and out, wet and warm. Cas’ tongue is firm but it has give, lets Dean clench around it.

Cas’ fingers are pressing deep bruises into the skin of Dean’s ass where he’s holding him open, and he’s making all sorts of noises, grunts and groans, wet and muffled.

Dean is dripping, Cas’ spit running down his ass, his own spit coming from his open mouth, panting desperately into a pillow, and his precome falling from his cock, puddling on the sheets below, making them sticky. It’s messy and so, so hot.

Dean can’t stop the rocking of his hips, pressing his ass into Cas’ tongue, trying to rock his hips forward into some kind of friction on his cock. But there’s none to be found, just the sheets, already sticky and clinging, unsatisfying even at this level of arousal.

So he keeps shoving his ass back, trying to get more, more of Cas’ tongue, more of Cas’ spit, more of Cas’ pretty little noises. It’s so much, Dean’s entire body feels stretched, flushed, sensitive and hot. The skin around his ass is burning, the exquisite, painful prick of beard burn on such sensitive skin. It’s proof, proof that Cas is there, that he wants Dean this badly. Dean feels strung out from it all, too much sensation and yet not enough, all of it focused on his ass, his arousal curling low in his hips, hot heavy, like his cock, still dripping, jerking with every pass of Cas’ tongue.

He’s never come without a hand on his cock, never even thought about it, but he’s pretty sure this is how it feels. “Oh, fuck, Cas, stop, stop, you gotta, ungh,” he pants desperately.

Cas does, and then his warm breath and his tongue are gone, but his hands remain, thumbs rubbing small circles into the meat of Dean’s ass. Dean can tell from the touch, soft as it is, that he’s definitely bruised, deep, throbbing bruises in the shape of Cas’ hands.

The thought makes him groan.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, and fuck, his voice sounds _wrecked_.

“Yeah, just-” Dean pants some more, trying to get his body and his cock back under control. “I was about to come.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “Is that not the point?”

Dean smiles into the pillow. “Yeah, but, I want-” He swallows. He’s never asked for it before. It had been expected from the tricks, when Dean had been young and pretty and willowy. His face heats at just the thought of it, humiliation swirling in his gut.

But then Cas lays another kiss on his spine and Dean relaxes, lets the humiliation unwind. This is Cas. There’s no reason for him to be upset, or ashamed. He’s done far worse things in front of Cas than ask for anal sex.

“I want you to fuck me, Cas,” he manages.

Cas presses his mouth into Dean’s skin a little harder, presses his thumbs in harder too. “I would like that very much, Dean,” he says. He goes back to kissing Dean’s skin, peppering kisses along the base of his spine and across his ass. There’s a soft rustling sound and the sheets shift a little and then Cas takes one of his hands away.

Dean knows what comes next, and he cants his hips.

Cas groans and cups his left hand around Dean’s left hip, holding him steady. His right hand returns, tell-tale slick. His first finger slides easily into Dean’s ass, already loose and wet from Cas’ tongue.

“Yeah,” Dean says, a little breathy, getting used to the slide of Cas’ finger. It’s nice. He’s had fingers in his ass before. Some girls had done it while going down on him, and he’d liked it enough to try it on his own. Especially when…when he couldn’t stop thinking of Cas, Dean had come more than once with one hand on his cock and the other two fingers deep in his ass, imagining his hands were Cas’.

Cas slides in his second finger almost immediately. It’s a stretch, Cas’ hands are _big_ , and Dean groans, pushing back into it.

“Good, Dean,” Cas says. “Taking it so well.” He sounds nothing but earnest and pleased, and Dean feels a warm glow of satisfaction.

“Feels good,” he says.

“I’m glad,” Cas says. He fucks Dean easy and slow with his fingers, long thrusts in and out, until there’s barely any resistance. The third finger is thicker than Dean is used to and it makes him gasp.

Cas kisses his spine again and stills, waiting.

“S’ok,” Cas, Dean says. It doesn’t hurt, not really. “Just gotta get used to it.”

“You are supposed to be enjoying it,” Cas says.

“I am,” Dean says. He likes it, the easy, slow build. It’s…comfortable. He’s never felt comfortable during sex before.

“Hm,” Cas says, and Dean can picture him squinting.

His third finger pulls out and Cas goes back to fucking Dean with just two. He fucks him deeper with them, up to his last knuckle, and crooks them.

Dean groans and tries to shove back, but Cas keeps him still with the hand on his hip.

He drags his fingers down, slowly, and Dean outright moans when he drags them against his prostate. “Oh, fuck, Cas,” he says.

“Good boy,” Cas says quietly and Dean shivers all over. Cas kisses his back again and fucks him mercilessly, dragging his fingers out slowly before shoving them in again, aim dead on to Dean’s prostate.

Dean’s not even sure what noises he’s making into the pillow anymore, desperate, garbled sounds of pleasure and he tries to fuck his hips back even harder, tries to thrust his cock against the sheets but he’s held fast by just Cas’ one hand.

It’s so fucking hot.

He feels his orgasm coming again and he throws a hand back to grip at Cas’ wrist where he’s holding onto his hip. “Oh fuck, Cas, I’m gonna-”

Cas removes his fingers and Dean whines.

“Shh,” Cas says. His hand comes back quickly, slick and cool with even more lube, and then three fingers are sliding into Dean’s ass.

Dean groans. The stretch feels good this time, and Cas loosens his hand a little, letting Dean fuck himself on his fingers. “Oh, fuck, yes, Cas,” Dean gasps.

“Dean,” Cas groans. “Oh, Dean.”

“Cas, you gotta fuck me,” Dean says. “Now.”

Cas pulls his fingers out and puts his dirty hand on Dean’s right hip, and that’s all the warning he gets before he’s being flipped over, so hard that he bounces on the bed.

The display of strength makes him gasp.

“I want to look at you,” Cas says.

“Fuck,” Dean agrees. Because Cas is hot, his hair clumped and sticking up with sweat, his skin flushed, all the way down his chest. His lips are red, like he’s been biting at them. His eyes are glowing, the bright blue of his grace shining through. “Kiss me, Cas,” Dean demands.

Cas obliges, dipping down to kiss Dean, pushing his legs back up to his chest. The stretch burns, but it’s not bad, it adds to everything. Dean wraps his legs around Cas’ waist and digs his heels into his ass, trying to get Cas closer to him. Their cocks rub together and it’s so fucking good. Dean groans into Cas’ mouth and thrusts, bucking his hips hard.

Cas bites at his lips and then fucks Dean’s mouth with his tongue.

Dean just hangs on, one hand clutching at Cas’ hair, the other scrambling for purchase on the sheets, his heels digging into the small of Cas’ back.

“Dean, Dean,” Cas pants against his lips.

“Yeah,” Dean pants. “Oh, fuck, Cas.”

Cas pulls himself back, making Dean loosen his legs, stretch them more. “So fucking distracting,” Cas says, tracing Dean’s lips with a finger.

Dean opens his mouth and sucks his finger in, letting his eyes drift close. Cas’ finger takes like his skin, warm and salty, almost tingly with power.

Cas gasps and humps Dean, their hips rocking, once, twice, three times, before Cas still his hips.

“Dean,” he growls.

Dean just swallows around Cas’ finger.

Cas digs his nail in against the soft skin on the top of Dean’s mouth, shocking, a prick of pain where Dean had never expected one.

It’s good so, good. Dean gasps and opens his mouth.

Cas slips his finger across Dean’s tongue, runs it over his teeth, catches his lower lip, pulling it down before leeing it pop back up, Cas’ finger continuing its way over Dean’s chin, down his throat, leaving a warm trail of Dean’s own spit.

Dean swallows again so he can feel his throat work against Cas’ finger.

“I am going to fuck you now,” Cas says, staring into Dean’s eyes.

“Please, Cas,” Dean says.

Cas pulls back, just a bit, shifts his weight on his knees. His hand disappears between their legs and Dean’s breath catches in his chest, his heart hammering. This is it. Cas is going to fuck him. Cas is going to put his dick into Dean’s ass. Dean’s mind is buzzing with it. It’s been years. And never like this, face to face, never with his skin hot and tight, with his cock painful with arousal against his stomach, with his lips full and throbbing from kisses, with a big, warm, steadying palm petting his right hip. “Cas,” he gasps, voice tight with emotion.

Cas looks into his eyes again. “I love you, Dean,” he says, and Dean trembles.

He’s never heard that before being fucked either.

“I love you, and I’m going to fuck you,” Cas says, deep and firm.

“Yes, please, Cas,” Dean gasps.

The press of Cas’ cock burns. He keeps the head just inside Dean’s ass, stretching it.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dean says, panting through it.

“Feel me, Dean,” Cas says.

“I am, I am,” Dean pants.

“Good,” Cas says and slides home.

Dean chokes on his own spit as he gasps. It’s overwhelming, too hot, too much, too good. He throws his head back and clenches his fists, drumming his heels against Cas’ back.

Cas is dropping kisses wherever he can reach, Dean’s knees, his thighs, contorting himself to drop kisses across Dean’s chest.

Dean clings to him and tries not to cry. It’s stupid, it doesn’t hurt, and it’s _Cas_ , and Dean wants this. There’s no reason it should be so overwhelming, why it should bring tears to his eyes.

Then Cas starts moving.

He pulls out slowly, making every inch of it count, making Dean feel it, really feel him, adjust to him, before shoving back in.

“Fuck,” Dean says, and, humiliatingly, his voice cracks.

Cas presses another kiss to the inside of his knee as he starts rocking his hips.

Slow at first, and small.

Dean grunts and groans into it, but he adjusts quickly, sighing in time with Cas’ thrusts.

“Good, Dean,” Cas praises, and then he pulls out farther, and this time, when he slides in, he changes the angle just enough to fuck right up against Dean’s prostate.

“Ah!” Dean gasps, squeezing his eyes tight, his whole body sparking with arousal. “Oh yeah, Cas.”

Cas smiles against his skin and rocks again, harder this time.

Dean grunts and tips his head back, gasping as Cas fucks him, in and out, rhythmic, deep and hard.

Cas grunts, his fingers digging into Dean’s right hip and his left leg, hiked up around his waist. Dean is breathless, gasping, helpless beneath Cas, and there’s no point in fighting it, he’s pinned under Cas’ weight, fucked by Cas’ cock. There’s nothing to do but take it, and it’s good, freeing, to just let it happen.

Cas is making noises above him, grunts and growls that are the sexiest thing Dean’s ever heard.

He lets go of the sheets to claw at Cas’ back.

Cas seems to like that, fucking harder, faster.

It builds, and builds, the tension growing, building.

Dean opens his eyes because he can’t stand not looking at Cas any longer. Cas is staring at him, intense and hungry, and that’s when Dean comes.

He can’t quite get enough air to make a noise, which is good, because he’s pretty sure it would have been a kind of wailing noise that he would have never been able to live down.

“Dean,” Cas says, sounding rapturous, beautiful, holy.

“Mm,” Dean says, feeling fucked out and stupid. “Fuck me, Cas, come in me, I want you in me, want you to come in me, stay in me, please, Cas.” He’s not entirely sure where the words come from, he’s had a lot of practice at dirty talk but it’s never been like this, instinctual, raw, and honest.

Cas’ eyelids flutter, and his thrusts go wilder, rhythm lost as he chases his own pleasure.

“Yeah, Cas, come on, like that, just like that. Fuck me, really fuck me. Come in my ass, Cas.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says. “You…”

“Me,” Dean says. He feels pleasure drunk, loose and easy and unashamed of the filth pouring from his mouth.

Cas shifts, pushing Dean’s knees back so he can kiss him properly. He cries out into Dean’s mouth as Dean feels him come. The room itself seems to shudder with him, the air rippling as Cas shakes, as he pants into Dean’s mouth and floods his ass with come.

Dean just hangs on.

It takes several moments of the stillness afterwards for Dean to feel like he can move. Slowly, he unclenches his hands, flexing his fingers. He threads them through Cas’ mess of hair, stroking, petting.

“Mmf,” Cas says. He shifts, sliding out of Dean, and then collapses onto his chest.

Dean’s breath leaves him in an “oof”, but he doesn’t mind. Cas is warm and solid, even if he’s fucking heavy. Dean just keeps petting his hair.

Eventually Cas rouses himself enough to start laying lazy kisses on the skin nearest his mouth.

Dean hums happily. His brain has gone quiet for once, relaxed by the orgasm, his third one is only hours, goddamn, and Cas’ weight.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs. “That was…”

“Spectacular? Amazing?” Dean suggests, grinning down at Cas’ head.

Cas pinches him a little, but he says, “Yes.”

“Liked it too,” Dean says.

Cas’ hand comes up, tracing idle patterns on Dean’s chest, running through the cooling come there.

Then there’s a warm wave, and the come disappears from Dean’s chest and stomach, and his legs uncramp, the muscles going lax and loose.

“You’re amazin’,” Dean slurs, groaning as he stretches his body out.

Cas kisses him again. “You are astounding, Dean,” he says. “I never imagined…I didn’t think I would ever…the sensations of sex are nice. But it is _pleasure_ I feel when I’m with you.”

“Good,” Dean says, feeling warm and sappy and stupid.

Cas lifts his hand and lays it over Dean’s heart.

Dean lifts his own and tangles his fingers with Cas’. It’s hard to tell time in the windowless rooms of the bunker, but he thinks it’s probably still early morning. Cas is heavy on top of him, and clearly in no hurry to move. It’s been a long time since Dean has felt the luxury of someone spread on top of him, nothing nasty lurking in the dark corners, just out of sight. There’s still shit to do, monsters, probably, and Jack, up in heaven needs Cas, but none of it is pressing, and for the first time in maybe ever Dean doesn’t feel the restless urge pulling him out of bed, pulling him towards the next big thing.

“I love you,” he murmurs in Cas’ mess of dark hair. He falls back asleep to Cas’s fingers tapping out the rhythm of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually my 50th fic posted to AO3...I'm glad it was with the return of Destiel.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hadestown (Wait For Me (Reprise)). Thanks to [BlossomsintheMist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist) who is, as always, my cheerleader and looked over this for me.
> 
> It's been years....glad to be back onboard the Destiel train my friends.


End file.
